#cube wisp

[tekatonic]

a special treat : big MS Paint Guy Collection to end the year !

plus bonus uncompressed ms-paint colored sonic sticker

[mynders-universe]

Got some silly doodles I’ve made of Jasper over the past few weeks. Mostly involving Jasper becoming a parent to just about anything that comes within a ten foot radius of them. Axle doesn’t seem to mind being a big brother at least.

Still trying to figure out how I wanna handle his hood and neck. I’ll get it eventually~

[stephensharpe]

Just some “really good friends”

[sapphanimates]

Zeti

Wisps!

[verocitea]

What is your favorite Sonic wisp? Can you show it to me in a drawing?

They are just built silly, idk what to tell you

[wispisstillverybored67]

I love how, since Cube's route is battle-less, his "battle theme" against OD-10, herself considered one of the most unnerving foes in the game, has an equally creepy track (Unseen Syndrome) to set the match.

[star-critter]

MONDAY 7 : COMPANION (IRL FRIEND)

>Pre-betrayal Mimic & Blue hours<

[bed-buggier]

do you guys think artists in Sonic's world draw furry art but instead of bipedal animal people its Chao and Wisps

[son1c]

amy and knuckles from my original shatterspace! they're from the lava half, "heatwave hearth."

in this universe, ardent embodies amy's passion and burning anger! she's a real feisty gal. (and she REALLY hates that she keeps losing in the wisp races to alabaster.) blister, on the other hand, is pretty level-headed. he takes his responsibilities to the hearth seriously, and is more "rock" than lava, if we're still thinking in terms of a volcano.

their wisps are blue cube and black bomb, respectively. ardent's cube wisp is named piko piko, and when combined with her wispon, it becomes a hammer! blister's bomb wisp originally didn't have a name, but ardent convinced him to give it a name after much pestering. at her suggestion, its name is bom bom lol.

oh, and one more thing about the world! it's not split in half for no reason. in this timeline, the unleashed event still happened. however, it wasn't because of eggman waking up dark gaia early (since eggman doesn't exist in this world). it was simply Time for it to happen. so it did. and now, the planet is fragmented. it's a good thing everyone has a wisp to help them get around, huh?

[wispisstillverybored67]

dunno if this has been done yet or not, but--

[lupikekee]

Boothill x fem!reader

Warm golden rays peaks out from behind the curtains, birds chirped and sang, the windy air caused trees to howl throughout the early sunrise, causing Boothill to stir subtlety. He tries to blink out his drowsiness once, twice, thrice. The cold air nipping at his body, making him acutely aware of your absence in bed. Without you, the shared bedroom felt more like a ghost town— well, room.

He rises from his spot, despite his body being metallic, he still manages to stretch his arms out and let the tension wisp away out of his body from the various sleeping position for the whole night, causing relief to wash over his body. He lets out a yawn as he regains his consciousness, he looked back to the now empty bad and notes to search around your shared house to look for what you might've been up to this morning.

He peaks in to the kitchen, you're not there. But there seems to be breakfast prepared. Grits, biscuits and sausage. Though he's told you time and time again that he doesn't require human food, you still insist that you cook for him. When he did eventually admit defeat, he couldn't deny that your smile had made his mechanical heart pump faster. Causing his system to heat up and the loud sounds of fans blasted through. What came after? The sweet melody of your laughter, your pretty lashes fluttering and your smile exposed your pearly whites to the reaction of his system, realising that was his indication that he was blushing. Boothill thinks that your joy is the most beautiful expression that you can grace him with.

He smiles at the memory before continuing his search for you. He peaks at the living room, no sign of you. The toilet being the same. He then decides to check outside and finally catches you in his sight. With the golden rays casted over your figure, you looked enchanting. The field of crops surrounding your shared home, the single strand of wheat just barely hanging off the corner of your lips with you wearing your cowboy hat.

Boothill unconsciously grinned at the sight of you, then noticing that you were looking down at your shotgun, cleaning the hole with a cloth. He continues to admire you from afar until you noticed him standing in the doorway like an idiot. Your beautiful smile graces your lips at the sight of your husband gazing at you fondly.

You saunter over to him and cup his left cheek in your palm. "G'morning sunflower." You give him a peck on his lips. "How long have you been standing here like a stalker, darl?" You laugh, his face heats up as what you said was true. "Just wanted to see ya, sugar cube." He playfully pouted with his arms crossed. "And if I'm a sunflower, I'd say that you're a cruel woman, neglecting me of my needs." You giggle.

"And why's that?"

"Well, sunflowers face the sun ain't they?"

"Yeah? How's that related to us?"

"You are my sun, sugar cube."

Your eyes soften as you gaze up at him, his target shaped iris gazing back into yours. his hands placed over yours that was placed under his cheek. He flutters his eyes close and leans into your touch. Your vision slowly blurs with tears that eventually stream down from your lashes to your cheeks. You were truly moved.

Nobody has ever put as much effort as he does to make you feel like you're the woman in the world for him. Even throughout the choices of women in the entire galaxy, he chose you, he chose to settle down with you. You were his as much as he was yours and he has never let you spend a day thinking the opposite. You were his as much as he was yours.

"Boothill..."

" A'm 'ere, pretty." He muttered. Moving a strand of your hair that was blocking a small part of your face. It was clear that you were both as lovestruck as the day you got married all those years ago. He kisses the top of your head as if to seal an unspoken promise, a contract that'll last forever.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Silvercloud Bomb
Wondrous item, rare ___ This egg-shaped silver bomb is covered with dragon scales and encircled with a draconic sculpture. A thin wisp of mist streams from the top. You can use an action to throw the bomb at a point that you can see within 30 feet of you. The bomb erupts on impact, releasing a cloud of silvery mist in a 60-foot-radius sphere centered on that point. When this happens, choose 1d6 + 10 10-foot cubes of unoccupied mist within the area, which must be contiguous. Each cube of mist congeals into a solid object with 15 AC and 50 hit points. A misty cube remains for 24 hours, until it’s reduced to 0 hit points, or until a wind of moderate or greater speed (at least 10 miles per hour) disperses it. The cubes remain fixed in place for the duration and are slightly pliable, allowing them to be easily climbed. If a creature would be surrounded on all sides by the cubes (or the cubes and another solid surface), that creature can make a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw. On a success, the creature can use its reaction to move up to its speed so that it’s no longer enclosed. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[madschiavelique]

hii my love! would u mind doing a little blurb on miguel finding out the woman he has been seeing is a stripper? she just feels so embarrassed to admit that and scared It would drive him away but instead he’s pretty much more open about it and become far too protective too. thank you:))

OMG ANON YOU DON'T KNOW HOW OUR BRAINS CONNECTED because listen : i have an au in mind where my spiderpersona is a succub in a strip club, and basically when Miguel is brought there by his friends, they meet

SO YEA i'm living for stripper!reader x miguel (also this was supposed to be a blurb but i got carried away fdkzefrgd - the club scene from Closer really inspired me for this)... now i want to make a multiple chapter fic on stripper!reader x miguel hELP

summary : miguel discovers you're a stripper

content warnings : NSFW, stripper!reader, reader gives a little private show to miguel (just removes the top though, doesn't reveal the cunt), fem!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 2k song mentionned : world outside - the devlins

tag list : @fandom-ash

Up until now, you had decided to keep your professional occupation to Miguel, for one simple reason: fear.

Fear filled your stomach at the thought of telling him you were a stripper. You and Miguel had been dating for some time, and had quickly become close. The bond was shaping up to be strong, and you were worried that the information about your job would ruin everything.

He'd already asked you a few times what you were doing, but you'd always managed to deflect the subject elegantly. Yet there's no stopping Miguel's determination and curiosity, least of all when the topic of conversation turns out to be you.

So he did something he wasn't particularly proud of, but couldn't resist: while you were out working, he asked Lyla where you were.

She'd given him an address, and some information about it...

"A club?" he'd asked, looking at the street information for the address. "A strip club," Lyla had corrected. "There's no mistake? Are you sure?" he'd questioned, taking a closer look at the establishment's hours and information. "Have you ever seen me calculate a lot of errors?" sighed the artificial intelligence.

Never. Hardly ever had he seen her fail in this area. Maybe you weren't really a dancer there, maybe you were a bartender, or a waitress, who knows. Only, the idea of seeing you wearing a fine outfit and swaying on a stage was strangely appealing to him.

Without missing a beat, he made his way to the address. It wasn't far, which surprised him as much as it reassured him. The very idea that your place of work wasn't far from home appealed to him, as it ensured that if you ever needed to be picked up for any reason, he'd be there.

He arrived at the entrance, breathing in, passed the bouncers who joked that with his build he could get into the business, and entered.

Blue light from two corner spotlights illuminated red velvet-covered staircases leading downwards. He moved forward, the mirrored walls reflecting him. The room's bass could already be heard from outside, but now he could hear the music more clearly.

You light up my dreams, light up my skin. You're so far away, you're holding it in.

The place was quite crowded, and Miguel noticed a fair number of men in suits and ties. He wouldn't have cared in any other context about the consumption habits of these men here, but suddenly the very idea that there were potentially regulars coming to see you displeased him enormously.

As for the place, it smelled of violets and lemongrass. The ceiling was high, revealing a second floor from which hung three chandeliers surrounded by red cubes.

Spotlights were placed here and there, illuminating the important places: the round tables, like the one next to Miguel on which two women on their knees were swaying, undressing each other under the watchful eyes of all the men around the table; the U-shaped bar, from either end of which women were dancing in wisps of sinuous white smoke; and pole-dancing pedestals on their red-lit floor that emphasized the curves of the dancers placed on them.

And he recognized one of the dancers: it was you.

It was an evening like any other, your garter belt was already generously stuffed with bills of various colors against your thigh and you'd already put on a private show. You were on the pole bar, dancing and undulating your body against it under the round, adoring eyes of your little audience.

You'd been in the business for a while now, and you'd managed to make more friends than enemies in the club, enough so that your colleagues became your buddies.

In fact, your friend right next to you softly called your name, and you turned to her as you danced.

"Did you see the one that just came in? He's huge," she pointed out, smiling at the customers around you. "And pretty good looking too."

As you continued your endless choreography, you glanced surreptitiously at the said customer. But your heart dropped into your stomach for a moment as you met Miguel's gaze.

You hesitated between freezing on the spot and running away, but instead tried to keep your cool and your professionalism and continue your dance until he arrived near the pedestal.

"This one," you pointed out to your friend, "is for me."

She gave a little laugh as you motioned for another dancer to take your place and gracefully stepped off your pedestal, advancing towards Miguel as you would a normal customer

"So this was where you were hiding?" asked Miguel a little above the music, tilting his head to the side as he looked you up and down.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, as inquisitive as you were nervous.

"Curiosity got the better of me, and I was right to give in to temptation."

He was watching your outfit, which emphasized your body, your curves highlighted by the glitter and rhinestones mixed with the laces. You were close to him, almost to the point where a simple movement on Miguel's part would allow your two bodies to meet.

"But I'd prefer to discuss this somewhere else...?" he says.

"I'm in the middle of working hours, but... how about a private show?" you offered, drawing even closer to him as your eyes seemed to him irresistible through your lashes.

He shuddered.

"I'd like that."

You smiled softly, taking his hand to guide him towards one of the Paradise Suites. You guided him a little further until you came to a door you knew well and opened it to let him in.

A round sofa circled a round table at its center, the latter illuminated in pink. A strip of light circled the sofa, another path laid out to encourage strippers to be creative and use the room as they saw fit. You weren't expecting to give Miguel a private show tonight, but fate had played a nice trick on you.

You guided him to the sofa, letting him settle there as you climbed up on the table, looking at him with eyes that were usually calculated to convey desire, but this time really felt it.

And he looked at you with, his were dark, pools of ink attentive to your every move.

"How long have you been doing this?" he'd ask, his attention unwavering.

"Five months," you toyed lightly with one of your shoulder straps as you let your other hand roam your body.

He was going to be able to ask you all the questions that came to mind, only if he didn't get too distracted by your beauty.

"Are you allowed to flirt?" he asked.

"Yes, I am." you replied, letting your hand slide down your chest.

"Do you have any regulars?" he leaned forward, his head tilted back to watch you dance.

"Yes, I do. Private clients as well." you turned, your back to him to loosen your corset behind your waist, undulating your body.

The idea that you had regular clients here wasn't disturbing, but the fact that you had private ones displeased him a little more, for the fact that your security was much less framed than it was here.

"I want names."

You let out a small laugh as you turned to face him again.

"You want to make me lose my job?" you knelt on the round table to get to his level.

"No, I want to replace them." he said, his eyes moving from yours to your fingers removing the first strap.

"I'm not allowed to have relationships outside of the club with clients," you countered, tracing the skin of your bare thigh sensually.

"And what do you usually do?" his chest puffed out as he inhaled, feeling a little hotter little by little.

"I dance, I talk, I laugh, I strip, and that is all." you confirmed as you removed the second strap, and with a simple movement unhooked the little clip between your breasts to reveal them.

His eyes were eager, watching your perfect breasts as he parted his lips, mouth agape.

"No touching?" he questioned, eyes still on your body.

"No touching, you can just slide the tips in the garter belt" you advised, your hand sliding against the latter where a few bills were lodged.

"What would happen if I touched you now?" he asked, moving a little closer to the edge of the sofa.

"I would like it," you said, shifting your legs over the front to stand up again on the table gently, "but the security cameras would notice, and probably get you out of here."

Miguel looked up, just above the table, on the ceiling, was a small half globe with a small point of red light.

"Pays well?

"Very well." you smiled, your hands playing dangerously with the string of your thong.

"How much will it cost me to be here with you?"

Miguel wasn't afraid of going broke here, especially for you, he was plenty rich enough for that.

"Depends on what you want." thinking that maybe Miguel didn't want to make you work right now, you got off the table and climbed onto the sofa and then its edge instead, sitting there.

"How high are the prices? I haven't seen the menu of services."

"Our VIP options can go up to 1500 dollars." you say wearily, pretending to walk your index and middle fingers in his direction on the strip of light.

"1500?" he almost exclaimed, raising his eyebrows.

"Mhm," you hummed, "two hours with two dancers and a bottle of Don Perignon."

He turned towards you, coming closer, his head level with your thigh as his eyes inevitably fell on the bills you'd been given.

"And what's the price if I only want you and nothing else with me?" he questioned as his gaze returned to yours.

"Here, from 80 dollars I can give you a 10-minute air dance." you said as you leaned towards him, your faces close but not yet touching. "Outside, nothing."

A small, proud smile appeared on his lips. However, you being far too hot and gorgeous, he was beginning to feel tight in his clothes, especially his pants.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, sitting up differently, your eyes falling on his crotch and smiling as you bit your lip.

"Five o'clock. Will you last until then?"

He sighed, his eyes falling on your lips, eager.

"I just don't know if I'll be able to keep my hands to myself."

You smiled, then straightened up, reaching for your top. But Miguel took his wallet out of his pocket and slipped a bill under your garter belt. To be deprived of a view like this? Never. You smile a little more, and sit back down on the table, kneeling upright to let him get a good look at you.

He leaned towards you again, intertwining his fingers as his gaze softened slightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You sighed, biting your cheek as you looked down at your hands carefully placed in your lap.

"I was scared," you admitted with a sigh. "Scared that this would end what we have."

You knew that not all men or simply partners were comfortable with their halves being strippers, and the idea that Miguel shared that opinion terrified you.

"Nena," he called your nickname.

Your head was still down, and you felt the soft sensation of money paper under your chin. Miguel straightened your jaw with a bill, bringing his eyes to yours.

"This isn't a problem to me." he smiled, lowering his hand to place the bill under the elastic of your belt. "This is actually really good."

Confusion seized you along with relief, causing you to frown while sporting a grin.

"Why?"

He tilted his head to one side, smiling proudly.

"I get the satisfaction for everyone to see how gorgeous you are, while being the only one who has the right to touch you."

You let out a small burst of voice somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, the relief of his answer washing over you like a wave of comfort.

After that, he'd deserved more than just a show.

[stephensharpe]

Just about managed to squeeze everyone in.

[littlemissvincentvega]

Hii could u write a part 2 to the morning wood hopper fic? Maybe hopper accidentally bumps into the reader at a bar and he takes her home and Yk… 😏

MORNING WOOD pt. 2 / a perv!hopper one shot

PART 1

a/n: OMG i finally wrote something and it is the part 2!!! i'm going to do part 3 soon (might start writing it tonight) it will most likely be the finale of this little miniseries thing with hopper. but i had so much fun writing this and i hope y'all enjoy ♥ also also i'm in the process of setting up the tumblr tips thing bc i am Poor and somebody asked me about it aaaages ago :) thanks @nonsensecynical for the request and the inspiration for doing the part 2!!

18+ explicit content / perv! jim hopper x fem!reader

cw: alcohol, smoking, sexual themes, general perviness

Wisps of smoke left his nose like an angry bull. He tapped the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray in front of him, watching as the ash fell into it. It had started out clean and empty, but since Jim arrived a small pile of cigarette butts had accumulated there. He nursed his (sixth? seventh?) drink, focused on the melting ice cubes that swirled around the glass.

"Need a drinking partner?"

Hopper looked up from the bar, his eyes widening a little when he saw it was you. Of course it was. He'd jacked off to the thought of you that very morning, so why the hell wouldn't he have to deal with speaking to you as if he hadn't just mentally fucked you into next week? "What?"

You snickered slightly and shifted to sit beside him at the bar. Unbeknownst to Jim, you were already a couple of drinks in, which was why you were so calm about approaching him. You'd considered this a few times before after seeing him drink his problems away, but today was the day you grew a pair, for some reason. "Are you having another drink?"

"Probably," came his mumbled response. He looked at you, "Why?"

You pretended not to notice his gaze drop briefly to your breasts and gave him a coy smile. "I'll get your next one. You look like you need a drinking partner. You're always in here by yourself."

"(y/n), I couldn't ask you to do that," Jim said, sitting up to look at you properly. Why was a young, beautiful thing like you bothering to speak to him? He arched his brows. "By myself--? That's by choice, not because I don't have friends, you know."

"You didn't ask me, I offered. I'm buying the Chief of Police a drink. Least I can do for you doing your duty," you grinned, ignoring his further comments. He closed his eyes in annoyance, sighed through his nose and begrudgingly agreed.

-

"Let me give you a ride home," Hopper told you an hour or so later, sliding the empty glasses toward the barkeep. "Least I can do after you bought me a single drink."

You grinned upon seeing a smile twitch on his usually stoic face, then slid on your coat. "I didn't tell you to pay for my other drinks. I just... let you do it. It's fine, I'll drive myself home."

"No, no-- not happening." He was already ushering you out, a large hand hovering near your lower back. The bitterly cold air of the evening woke you up slightly, and you grimaced at the change in temperature. "I'll hafta arrest you for drink-driving. Wouldn't want that."

Being slightly merry, you bit your lip into a smile of mischief and eyed him. "Would that involve you putting me in handcuffs?"

That kinky little shit. I knew it. Hopper stared at you for a few moments, then continued to whisk you to his truck. "Yes."

Jim helped you into the passenger side of the truck, closed the door for you and then made his way to the driver's seat. He cleared his throat and glanced your way. You had slid your coat down your shoulders just a little to allow the cold air around your breasts. And yes, he could see your nipples trying to poke through the fabric of your shirt. Dark gaze lingered on them for a moment before he cleared his throat again and switched on the engine. "Thanks, uh, for keepin' me company tonight," he mumbled.

"Oh-- don't mention it. It's nice to not drink by myself for once."

"You there a lot?" he queried, taking a look behind before reversing out of the parking spot.

"Mm, sometimes," you hummed, popping the cap off of your lipstick and topping it up in the mirror. Hopper wished you wouldn't do that. It was making his mind go to places, places it had been that same morning. Making him think about how beautiful you'd look with those beautiful plump lips wrapped around his cock, pumping and sucking...

And then you broke his trance with a question. "Should you even be driving?"

"What?"

You returned the lid to your lipstick and put it in your handbag. "You're technically drink-driving, Chief."

God. Stop calling me that. He glanced your way, a gentle smirk tugging at his lips. "What'd you just call me?"

Brows arched, you stared at him and tried to ignore the pulsing between your thighs. After a short pause, you answered him, albeit a little quieter. "Chief."

"Exactly. I'm the Chief of Police, I can do what I want." And what I want is to fuck your brains out.

You simply rolled your eyes and chuckled a little, opting to look out of the window. Jim took that opportunity to steal a few glances at your body, the way your skirt perfectly hugged your hips, how the low-cut top showed off your delicious breasts. How he'd like to grab them, knead them, suckle on your perfect little nipples. He swallowed thickly, making an attempt to ignore his twitching cock. No, not twitching-- it was throbbing.

When you turned to look for any packs of cigarettes Jim had laying around his car, it wasn't difficult to see what he was trying to hide. It only made your core ache more for him, and from what you could see, he was big. You diverted your gaze from it quickly, locating the cigarettes, and sparked up. The first exhale definitely helped to calm you down, but it was barely a distraction from how sopping wet you felt.

The rest of the ride was quiet, almost awkward considering how you were both feeling (unbeknownst to each other), but Hopper broke the silence when he pulled into the trailer park. "Which number are you again?" he mumbled. He knew the number.

"Right there." You pointed at your trailer, which was painted light blue (a DIY job Eddie Munson had helped you with, much to Steve's dismay).

Hopper pulled up at the side of your home, hands resting in his lap to conceal what was going on down there. A small smile was given to you. "Home sweet home."

You noticed that he didn't turn off the engine, which was a slightly disheartening, but your horny little brain had other plans. One hand rested on the door handle and you looked across to him, eyebrows raised. "Aren't you gonna walk me to my door?"

Oh, God, why? He looked mildly annoyed, staring at you silently for a moment. "The free ride home not enough?"

"Nope." You flashed him a grin.

Rolling his eyes, Jim switched off the engine and exited the car. In his mind, he was hoping his erection had subsided a little, but he knew full well it wasn't going away until he took care of it. All he had to do was pray you didn't notice. "Alright," he helped you down from the truck, savouring every moment his hands touched your body, "five more steps and you're home safe."

"Huh, chivalry isn't dead, after all," you joked, walking with him to your porch. You fumbled to grab your keys and began to unlock the door.

"Sure," he cracked a small smile again. You were sweet-- he found you to have a decent sense of humour, too. "Uh, thanks again for keepin' me company."

You removed the key and opened the door, looking up at him. "You're welcome. Do you want to come inside for a bit?"

For a moment, Jim's eyes widened and he fell silent. He looked inside, then back to you. "No, I should get goin'. Got stuff to do."

"What stuff?" You held his gaze, subtly ran your tongue along your upper lip.

"Y'know-- laundry. Got some, uh, dirty dishes--"

But he was cut off. Your hand, much smaller than his, had found the outline of his erection, and you were gently rubbing it through his work-slacks. "What else?" you breathed, watching the poor man try to catch his breath.

He swallowed thickly, all too aware of how heavy he was breathing. Gaze dropped to watch your hand, then slowly rose to capture all of the beauty your body held. His eyes finally met yours again. "Gotta take a shower... maybe it can wait..." Without warning, he pushed you inside and slammed the door behind you both, shoving you against the nearest wall. It made the framed photos there shake, but Hopper didn't care. You squealed with surprise-- his cock rubbed against you as his lips met yours, all hunger and pent-up frustration and passion. He groaned against your lips, only pulling away after a few seconds to catch his breath and look at you. Yes, it was clear. You both wanted the same thing.

-

PART 3 COMING SOON!

[dulcidyne]

Tibias and Toe Picks

DA:VG//Emmrich x Rook//SFW//Complete Read on AO3!

It is a cold Wintermarch day and the River Minanter frost fair is in full swing.  Emmrich frets, Rook improvises, and Manfred? Manfred skates, of course.

It was a cold Wintermarch day, and the Minanter was a shimmery silver ribbon unspooling a lopsided bow through the city before trailing off into the frost-flocked eastern foothills. Manfred pointed to the dark specks and rainbow flecks dotting busily over distant the frozen river with his most excited hiss.

“Skate!”

Rook, leaning into Emmrich for warmth, her arm wrapped round his, looked up with cold-flushed cheeks and incredulity. “Manfred can ice skate?”

Emmrich winced, folding his palm over the mittened fingertips curling against his forearm. “He...has been making some progress over the years. Last winter, he only fractured the one patella, which was a remarkable improvement.”

“Ahhh,” she said knowingly, then smiled, her eyes dancing as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Couldn’t stop him, could you?” she guessed as she drew back. Her breath was a faint, warm puff against his skin.

“I try every year,” Emmrich lamented. “To no avail. He simply will not be dissuaded. It’s all I can do to minimize the damage.”

“Well, don’t worry,” she said, unlooping her arm from his to clasp his hands in her wool-knit fingers and level him her most confident smile. “This year you have me. I can help.”

A ‘don’t worry’ from anyone who wasn’t Rook would’ve only earned them a displeased frown. On principle, Emmrich took exception to such advice from colleagues and friends. ‘Don’t worry so much’—the careless and willful ignorance of the perpetually blasé. The aggravating simplicity of rephrasing the impossible into the prosaic. Oh, just like that? Don’t worry? Why, what a fool he’d been all this time. Why hadn’t that occurred to him?! 

But Rook’s ‘don’t worry’s were never advice or condescensions—they were promises. And a promise from Rook was not a thing to take lightly. She had a knack for achieving the impossible. If anyone could keep Manfred’s patellae intact, it was her.

Comforted, Emmrich smiled down at her upturned face before loosening his hand from her grip to trace his thumb over the high curve of one cold-pinked cheek. He could still scarcely believe all this was real, that she was really there with him, after everything that had happened. Even after so many months, half of him expected to wake up any moment and find himself back at his desk in the Lighthouse, surrounded by scattered papers and thrown-open texts, the lyrium knife a gleaming taunt as their last words to each other resurfaced over and over in his mind. 

But she’d made him a promise, and she was not a woman to be gainsaid. Fade prisons and gods be damned. And so, here she was, whole and perfect, her face a striking geometry of cheekbone, brow, jaw, and chin softened by her smile and the blush of cold. Pale constellations of snowflakes freckled over the wind-tangled wisps slipping free from the midnight blue of her cloak’s hood. He watched, utterly entranced, as a few lacy flecks dusted over the ruddy tip of her nose like confectioner’s sugar. Unable to resist the temptation, he kissed it, half expecting her to taste as sweet as she looked. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, she only tasted of cold water. Until she canted her chin back and wound her fingers around the nape of his neck to reclaim the melted snow still on his lips. Emmrich sighed against the bold brush of her tongue, the warm, luxuriant glide faintly spiced with cinnamon and clove from the tea she’d downed like a shot right before they’d set out. 

The world unraveled around them, dissolving like the sugar cubes in her tea. There was only the press of her mouth against his, a slow, languid pull drawing him deeper into the soft, Rook-hazed eddies of spices and mingling sighs. It felt like stepping into a dream, the husky note curling at the base of her throat re-weaving reality with borrowed threads of the Fade. Everything was brighter. More beautiful. Colors coruscating in the dusk of his lidded eyes.

“Skate!” Manfred cried out again, befuddled and aggravated by their delay. “Not kiss.” 

Rook broke away with a stifled giggle. As yet, none of their explanations had managed to provide his erstwhile assistant with any real understanding of the concept of a ‘kiss’ or why  Rook and he had been…ah…rather preoccupied with the practice over the past several months.

“Sorry, Manfred,” she said, her smile crooking at a chiding angle as she leaned back against Emmrich’s hands fitted round her waist. “But this time, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m afraid it was, darling,” Emmrich argued, stealing one last kiss from her lips before drawing back and folding her arm around his in a single, smooth gesture. “It invariably is. Even when it isn’t.”

She settled against his side, fitting as snugly as if she were made for it. Or maybe the other way around—as if it had been made for her. Blasphemous as it was, he didn’t believe in the Maker’s will. Andrastrianism had abandoned him the moment he’d plucked his mother’s teacup from the rubble of their home. But in moments like these, he wondered if he should believe in something. In the divinity that existed between her shoulder and his side, a perfection of hollows and contours finding their respective matches. It was so small, but…he was more in awe of it than he’d ever been of any golden Chantry statue.

“Hardly seems fair,” she said with a playful sigh gusting up through a snowflake-studded curl.

“Dearest, imagine how I feel,” he replied, pulling her closer to his side as the snow crunched beneath their boots and Manfred ambled ahead.

As they drew closer to the riverbank, the smells of the frost fair food stalls curled beckoning fingers on every chill gust. Caramelized sugar and fried dough sprinkled with Rivaini cinnamon and nutmeg, roasted chestnuts and savory potato cakes laden with sage and rosemary. Beneath—the sharp, herbaceous whiff of balsam resin and juniper berries, clove-studded wheels of dried citron rinds fastened to garlands looped with diaphanous black crêpe to honor the ancestral dead as Nevarrans did in all celebrations.

Rook tipped her head to the side to nuzzle against his shoulder as she inhaled deeply. “When I was a child, I told myself one day I’d buy something from every single food stall at the frost fair.”

Emmrich chuckled, scanning the multicolored banners of the stall awnings garlanding the frozen riverbank in two opposing rainbows of oversized fabric pennants. He couldn’t even begin to count them all. As a child, his hopes had always been confined to a single pastry or a hot paper cone of chestnuts shared with his parents.

“You were always ambitious, then?”

“I don’t believe in doing things by halves,” she joked, cutting him a wry, sideways glance before her voice dropped into something softer. “It wasn’t so much about wanting the food as it was about wanting what the people with the food had. Seeing the parents and children and lovers and families huddling around the stalls, sharing and passing it around. To my mind, having neither, the food was the essential bit, so of course my dream was to get as much of that as possible.”

“Darling,” he uttered, pausing as they passed beneath one of the towering Van Markham statues lining the end of the boulevard.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, playfully misinterpreting his dismay. “With you and Manfred with me, I’m sure I’ll be just as happy only buying food from half the stalls.”

Once again, it was entirely her fault when he kissed her. And this time, she was the one sighing against his lips, her generous mouth parting, pliant. It only made him restless and greedy. His arms found their way around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest as he drew back into the shadow of the statue, away from any prying glances from the boulevard’s passers by. 

“Highly…improper,” she teased, words catching between kisses, her mittened fingertips knitting round his neck. 

“Your influence,” Emmrich whispered breathlessly. The full jut of her bottom lip was endlessly fascinating. Petulant and petal soft. He could devote himself to the study of it and nothing else for years. Write an entire thesis on it. With footnotes, he thought headily, arms full of her, his teeth grazing needy indents into her lip as he hauled her against him. The dip of her hip against his thigh—half divine, half dream.

“Skaaate!” Manfred cried out, dragging the word out as if he’d been mortally wounded and this was his dying moan. And then again and again. Until he was repeating one unending litany of, “Skateskateskateskate.”

“Manfred’s right,” Rook sighed, drawing her fallen hood back over her hair after they extricated themselves from the impassioned embrace with clumsy, wobbling limbs. “We’ll never make it to the fair before dusk at this rate.”

Emmrich cleared his throat and straightened his tie pin—her roaming hands always left it a little crooked. “Yes, but, nevertheless. Patience and discipline are qualities we must strive to embody, no matter the circumstance.”

Manfred did an impressive job of looking utterly betrayed, his emeralds glinting with an aggrieved sheen as he stared up at Emmrich with a slackened mandible.

Rook cocked her head and laughed. “Is this lecture for us or for Manfred?”

Well… that was fair. He was painting a very fine picture of a hypocrite at the moment. Emmrich’s already warm neck warmed hotter, and he coughed delicately. After all his lectures and lessons—to be so easily overcome by his own desires and feelings. Besotted, he’d ruefully called it once. But he no longer felt any regret over losing his head around her. Rook was a veritable bundle of impulses and improvisation wrapped up in a lovely bow. She kissed him in public, on the street, without a thought or a care who might be watching. Pulled him back into bed when he rose at dawn, distracted him from his books and research, waylaid his lectures and lessons. And he loved every minute of it. There was a charm to a life with a little less regimentation.  

Or maybe there was just charm to a life with Rook in it.

Either way, he’d come to realize since their relationship began that his much lauded virtue of ‘patience’ was highly contingent on the strength of his desires. He was not, as it turned out, actually all too patient a man where Rook was concerned.

“A fine point,” he conceded. “My apologies for all the delays, Manfred.”

With a hiss of forgiveness, Manfred accepted the apology, and they made their way down to the river without (much) incident, arriving well before dusk just as the band began to play. The atmosphere on the ice was as jubilant as the rich smells from the stalls, laughter and voices rising into the air with the cheery carnival sounds of strings and brass, a trilling piccolo cutting through the happy shrieks of a gaggle of children racing past on sleds. Manfred goggled at the sight, nearly taking off after them before Rook and Emmrich wrangled him over towards the quieter side of the river, away from the tents and stalls offering ale, mulled wine, and coffee and over towards one of the puppet plays re-enacting a famous Pentaghast dragon hunt for a group of younger children.

With Manfred momentarily distracted by puppets, Emmrich rifled through his pack and produced stacks of handsewn leather pads. 

“These go on the joints,” he told Rook. “And these on the long bones. Do try to tie them as tight as possible or they will slip off.”

He showed her how best to fasten the knots and left her to it, before returning to the pack for the quilted gambeson and chausses. Rook’s glance flicked up to the gambeson, and she blinked.

“Emmrich, that’s—” “Too thin, do you think?” he asked, holding it out for inspection. He’d had Manfred sew in an additional layer of padding after last year’s patella incident, and the garment was now about the thickness of Emmrich’s pinkie. 

“Thin is not the word I’d use,” Rook said, smiling as she tugged the last of the fastenings tight around an ulna. 

Together, they managed to stuff Manfred, who was now giddy and fidgeting with excitement, into the unwieldy gambeson. The chausses after. At last, Emmrich produced a pair of modified bone skates and skating poles.

“He does much better with the older skates and poles,” he informed Rook, fitting the first shearling-soled skate to Manfred’s nubbly calcaneus. “I shudder to think how much harm he’d come to with the metal blade alternative.”

Rook smiled indulgently, helping him fasten on the second skate to his other foot. 

And with that, at last, Manfred was ready. Rook stepped back and took one sweeping look from cranium to talus, before dissolving into fits of laughter so hard, she doubled over and clutched her midsection.

With the additional padding, the gambeson now had a rather…rotund appearance. Not so much as an inch of pale bone was visible beneath the swaddling quilt, knit, and shearling—just Manfred’s pair of glowing faceted emeralds. At a glance and from far away, instead of a skeleton, one might see a strangely proportioned but portly living man.

“Skate!” Manfred cackled in glee from beneath the padded skullcap and wool knit scarf wrapped thrice round his cervical vertebrae. 

Emmrich smiled as Rook wiped away her tears of mirth onto her mittens.

“You look very handsome, Manfred,” she said at last. “And most importantly, very safe,”

“Yes, well,” Emmrich said, retrieving the two pairs of iron and wood skating blades from the bottom of the mostly empty pack. “After you, my dear.”

Dropping to a crouch, he held his hands out for her boot so that he could assist her in fastening them on—a rather complicated process. She’d worn her oldest pair for some reason; the outsoles worn so smooth,  it was a miracle she hadn’t slipped on the icy cobbles on their way there.

Rook blinked down at him, confused for a moment before comprehension banished the tiny furrow between her brows. “Emmrich, I can’t skate with those,” she said. “I’ll sprain both ankles in the minute!”

Ah. It hadn’t occurred to him, but of course it should have—while there were a good number with metal skates like the ones he had in his hands, most of Nevarra City’s poor made do without, simply sliding across the ice in their own shoes. Iron was an expensive commodity, an exorbitant purchase for the handful of weeks in the year when the river froze solid enough for skating. Hadn’t he learned with just his own boots, all those years ago?

He also realized belatedly why she’d worn those particular boots. 

“It’s not very different, you see,” he explained, standing to fasten the blade contraption over his own boot. “The blades lie nearly flat on the outsole; the advantage is that the metal produces less friction.” Lacing it tight, he tested his weight to ensure the bindings were holding appropriately, then skimmed his heel against the ice in one short glide to show her.

Rook only looked skeptical. “Let’s deal with one novice at a time, shall we?” she suggested. “Or we’ll have four broken patellae on our hands.” There was certainly wisdom in that, so Emmrich finished fitting the second blade on his boot before returning her pair to Manfred’s pack. Standing, he took Manfred’s left side and Rook took his right. Manfred pushed off with the sticks in one faltering glide before immediately veering, then tipping over onto Rook. 

She might’ve withstood the sudden onslaught of skeletal limbs…if it weren’t for that gambeson. With the increased bulk came increased weight, and the pair of them collapsed onto the ice with a co-mingled shriek and hiss. 

Emmrich cried out their names in succession, leaning over them to grasp one of the flailing limbs. As Manfred struggled like an upturned turtle, Rook rolled onto her back, still half-pinned by him, and directed her peels of laughter up towards the sky. 

“He’s so heavy with this thing on Emmrich, I can barely breathe!” she gasped. “Gravity,” Manfred informed them cheerfully as Emmrich pulled him off her. He seemed no worse for wear, Rook having broken his fall.

“Yes, and remember, it can be very dangerous, Manfred” Emmrich warned, reaching next for the laughing puddle of splaying midnight wool and woman. “Are you injured?” 

“A little flatter maybe, but otherwise fine,” she said, letting him draw her up and pat her down for a more thorough inspection. He didn’t entirely trust Rook’s definition of fine. She applied it rather loosely.

“I wasn’t prepared,” she added, as he skimmed his palms over her forearms, gently manipulating her wrists and elbows for sprains or breaks. She let him, without complaint, indulging his concern with a fond glance. “I don’t actually know if he can move in that thing, Emmrich. Perhaps we should–”

“We can’t remove it,” Emmrich protested, bending her wrist one last time just to be sure, his thumbs rubbing circles into her skin beneath the cuff of wool. “It’s the only thing keeping him safe.”

The corners of her smile tucked in as if she were biting it back and her eyes danced with obvious affection before she gripped his hand in hers and squeezed.

“Alright, then…perhaps one of us could pull him?” She scanned the crowds before her eyes settled on a woman with her child, skating backwards in short, faltering glides as she bent over and held the girl’s hands as she followed. “Like that.”

She shifted back, letting her worn boots glide back over the ice, tugging him with her to demonstrate further. “And the other can follow behind, just in case.”

Emmrich blinked. Then laughed. All these years, he’d been instructing Manfred in proper technique and form and adding more and more padding when it failed to take as well as he’d hoped. But it’d somehow never occurred to him to teach him the way he’d learned with his mother and father.

“What an excellent idea, my love!” he declared, beaming at her and wanting very badly to kiss her again. He might have if Manfred wasn’t eying the both of them with a beseeching emerald glint.

“Skate?” he rasped.

And so that’s what they did. With the sheer weight of the bundled up Manfred, Emmrich was the only one who could pull him without immediately stopping again in short order. Rook did a fair job of keeping up in just her boots, stringing together staccato glides with the practiced grace of someone who’d spent many winters on the frozen Minanter. She helped push Manfred along, falling behind, then catching up just in time to give him another gentle nudge. Not needing the skate poles or to watch where he was going, Manfred was free to throw his head back in glee, his crackling hisses joining Rook’s breathless laughs and Emmrich’s encouragement. With this promising progress, Emmrich finally conceded to removing the bulky gambeson, much to Manfred and Rook’s delight. Without the weight of the padding, they were able to pick up more speed, tracing zig-zags over the ice in their trio processional, Manfred’s cheery red scarf flapping behind him like a colorful woolen tail as he chortled his delight.

And what a difference that made! Not a solitary wobble or stumble, Emmrich was beside himself with pride.

As the beginnings of sunset bloomed over the skyline, deepening it into a spill of pinks and golds the color of the wheels of fried dough slathered in apricot jam sold at his favorite stall, Manfred’s attention fixed on the group of screeching and scampering merchant children sledding gleefully down the gentle slope of the riverbank, popping up at the bottom and racing to the top to do it all over again. With their vivid red, blue, and yellow cloaks, they looked like oversized out of season songbirds fluttering up and down the riverbank in raucous trills and chirps.

“Gravity!” he said.“Sled.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Rook puffed as she caught up, her rapid breaths wisping white clouds into the cold. “I’m about to drop.” They skated over towards the shallow riverbank and Emmrich removed Manfred’s skates while Rook went over to a nearby merchant’s stall to haggle over the rental price of one of the simple wooden sledges.

By the time she returned, Manfred was skateless but once again clad in the gambeson. 

“There may still be hidden rocks,” Emmrich preempted, even though he needn’t defend himself. There’d been no critique in her smile, only fond exasperation.

“I know I worry–” he began.

“You care,” she corrected, handing over the sledge to Manfred’s outstretched mittens before wrapping her arm back round Emmrich’s so she could nudge his side with her elbow.

“Besides,” she added, as Manfred scampered up the modest incline, hurled the sled into the snow at the top only for it to descend immediately without him, resulting in his outraged cry and subsequent chase.

“I think it’s normal to worry after everything that’s happened. It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. Like this is all a just dream and I’m—” She trailed off, clutching Emmrich’s arm tighter and flashing up a tremulous smile. “But then I take a look at that ridiculous gambeson and I realize there’s no way I could think up something like that on my own.”

Retrieving the sledge, Manfred trecked back up the hill, waddling back and forth to manage the weight of all the padding. They watched him ascend again, this time setting the sledge down carefully, and Emmrich sighed through the tightness in his chest. He’d already lost them once; he couldn’t bear experiencing such a thing again. It would destroy him.

“Sometimes I wish I could put you both in a box where no harm could ever come to you,” he admitted. “It’s…”

Overbearing. Neurotic. Highly impractical.

“A bit much, I know.” He winced down at the top of her head. Her hood had fallen back a bit again, exposing the part of her hair. Such a small thing, that neat little valley, and seeing it, he felt strangely bereft, as if he could still glimpse a world without it out of the corner of his eye.

“Gravity!” Manfred cackled as he cut a path down the slope.

“Don’t worry,” she said, resting her temple against his shoulder the way she always liked to do. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Manfred.”

Another promise. Weighter than before. Rook was impulsive in most things and speech was no exception; always starting sentences without knowing how she wanted to finish them. Always in a rush. Always in the moment. A woman in perpetual present tense. But this promise had all the gleam of the future, bright as gold, and it banished those shadows from the edges of his sight.

“Skate with me, darling,” he said, waving Manfred down before he could ascend the slope again and reaching into the pack for her skate blades.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her as he knelt down to lace them over her boots. He meant it the way she meant it: a promise he intended to keep. For as long as he was able. “I’ll be right beside you.”

“Manfred, stay in sight,” Emmrich instructed as he led Rook away from the bank towards the center of the ice, skating backwards and holding her hand so that he could brace her weight as she took her first hesitant steps.

Which shifted into hesitant strides once she found her balance again. Finally, she looked up from her scuffed-up boots to meet his gaze.

“It’s not so different at all,” she said, her grin radiant, eyes luminous with excitement and discovery.

More confident, her strides lengthened and the metal blades whispered against the surface, etching longer and longer criss-crosses of silver over the ice. With increased confidence, all her former grace returned, her hand lightening in his grip as her balance became effortless. She laughed, full and vibrant, and it joined the sound of bells and piccolo on the breeze flitting over the ice.

Emmrich shifted his weight, pulling her closer as their path shifted into a curve—an impossibility on anything but the metal skates.

“There are some differences,” he said, his grin matching hers.

Rook lit up, eyes gleaming with all the possibilities unfolding before her. The nippy Wintermarch air whipped around them as they picked up speed, etching out arcs and looping whorls. He loosened their clasp, a silent invitation, gliding to her side to guide her into a tighter turn. His hand slipped beneath her fluttering cloak, fitting against her waist to steady her as they spirographed across the ice, movements so fluid, they were almost instinctual.

Together, they spun a dizzying gavotte of intricate patterns, threading through a series of fleeting touches. His fingers brushing her waist, her arm, her back, and the playful whisper of her fingertips responded in kind as she spun away, only to return. The world became the rush of air, the crisp bite of frost, and the electric tingle of her ambient magic circling closer.

Distantly, he noticed they’d drifted too close to the bank. But before he could retreat to the safety of the river, as quick as a blink, a red woolen scarf and bundle of knit and shearling cleaved through the gap between them, Manfred chortling with joy and alarm.

Rook cut an impressive turn, neat as a pin, that sent her careening towards the near bank. In a flash of alarm, Emmrich realized he’d yet to show her how to stop on metal skates—something no one had to worry about skating on boot heels alone. He raced for her, grabbing her cloak and yanking her into his arms just as his skate caught on a rough patch of snowy ground and sent them both hurtling into the bank.

The crust of snow crunched beneath them, pillowing their fall and soft as a sigh. No hidden rocks or secret treacheries. Just snow. Still in his arms, Rook twisted to look at him, her hood thrown back askew and her tousled hair frosted all over in white.

“Emmrich—” she said, leaning over him to see if he was unharmed. But he was laughing breathlessly.

And then he was pulling her down into the snow and kissing her.